


Coercion on the Hogwarts Express

by shinigami_yumi



Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Cameos, Complete, Diagon Alley, Flirting, Fluff, Friendship/Love, M/M, Magi☆Mari - Freeform, Parallel Universes, Timeline What Timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-07-07 23:07:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19859518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinigami_yumi/pseuds/shinigami_yumi
Summary: When Solomon made his wish on the Holy Grail, he never expected to be sent to a parallel world. But now Marisbury is his foster father, Olga-Marie is his little sister, Mages use actual magic wands, and he's scheduled to be sent off to wizarding school in a few weeks. Naturally, that entails preparatory shopping, which he starts by spilling his butterbeer float all over— Merlin?! Merlin is here, too?!And of course, what would Merlin do, but drag him along shopping...and insist it's a date?





	Coercion on the Hogwarts Express

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Lirica's gorgeous [Hogwarts Romani](https://twitter.com/liricamore/status/1094754922074013696?s=20) art, just some frivolous Merlin/Romani fun.
> 
> I just want Romani to be happy, ok? He has rights and deserves to live his best life! ;-;
> 
> All mistakes are mine, un-beta-ed.

When he'd made his wish, Solomon hadn't expected to also be sent to a parallel world. Or to end up so young. But in this world where Marisbury is his foster father who walks around with an actual magic wand, and there are proper Ministries of Magic instead of a few hyper-secretive Mage Associations because Mystery hasn't declined in the same way, he's eleven. And short. And supposedly, in this world, the right age to be sent off to wizarding school.

Wizarding school.

It's almost unimaginable — not a stodgy political mess like the Clock Tower, or some hidden point-of-no-return research centre like the Atlas Institute, but a boarding school in a hidden castle where children are invited through letters carried by owls to study magic. And not even for Holy Grail Wars or research to reach the Root — for otherwise perfectly ordinary careers like journalism and law enforcement!

Marisbury is terribly busy as an astronomy researcher trying to invent CHALDEAS here as well, which is how he, now an ordinary human child named Romani Archaman, found himself here — ushered through a tavern and dropped off in a bustling street with nothing but a list and a small bag of money to buy all the things he would need for his upcoming school year.

Romani looks at the list in his hand, then back up at the crowds flocking from one antiquated shop to another — families mostly, parents herding their children around. This might have been a costume party in the world he came from — pointy hats, robes and broomsticks everywhere. Inhaling deeply of the crisp air, he watches the faint mist of his heavy sigh rise — he doesn't even know where to begin.

As he's looking around helplessly, he spies, through a gap in the throng of people, something familiar.

_Ice cream! Yes, ice cream sounds amazing._

He quickly darts in, and the closing door shuts out the cacophony of voices and dissonant clacks of boots on cobblestones. In the cocoon of quiet conversation, he leans up on tiptoe against cool glass to check out the available flavours, and a man with black chin-length hair and a thick moustache comes to greet him.

“Hello, young man. What can I get you this fine day?”

“Oh, hello. Um… I—” _Ah, there are so many options! I—I want them all! Ngh, w—waffles… They have waffles, too… That's a little bit like the pancakes we had for breakfast the other day, right? They were sooo good, aaah... A waffle with three scoops, a topping and a sauce? How much is two Galleons, why can't they just use pounds?_

“Would you like to sample anything?”

“Oh, yes! Please! That would help me decide!”

The nice man lets him try almost every flavour on display, and it's heavenly, it's _all_ heavenly — he's no closer to deciding.

“I— I— Ngh…” More people are coming in; he needs to order something! “A waffle with berries and cream, cheesecake and… and black forest, please. With… strawberry sauce and chocolate shavings!”

“Of course. Coming right up. Why don't you take a seat?”

He finds a small round table and takes a seat, nearly fidgeting with anticipation as he counts out the two Galleons. He hopes Marisbury gave him extra and he'll have enough left to get everything after this. Well, if not, he supposes he could always wait till Marisbury returns to get the remainder.

“Are you here by yourself?” the man asks as he sets the waffle down on the table with a set of cutlery, and it looks and smells amazing.

His eyes light up as his mouth waters, and he misses a beat before replying, “Yes, Ma— my guardian has to work, so he dropped me here and will pick me up later.”

The man's brows furrow momentarily, but he only says, “Well, haven't seen you around before, so I expect you're new here. Let me know if you need any directions before you head out later,” as he goes to help another customer, and Romani barely remembers to thank him before digging in.

 _Ah…!_ He sighs happily, green eyes fluttering shut. The waffle is crispy outside, soft and fluffy inside. Fragrant but not too sweet, it pairs wonderfully with the perfect balance of sweet, tart and creamy from the ice cream, sauce and toppings, and he can hardly believe he lived an entire lifetime as a king without this gastronomical bliss.

It's over far too soon.

He cleans off the plate as best he can without being altogether unbecoming and reluctantly rises to leave. As he pays, he shows the shopkeeper his list, and the man helpfully tells him which shops he needs to go to for each item. It turns out there aren't many, and they're all very close by.

“One for the road?” he offers a cup — a fizzy brown liquid with a scoop of white ice cream floating in the froth on top. “It's on the house.”

“Thank you so much!”

He takes a sip as he steps outside, and—

 _Oh…_ He closes his eyes to savour it as he keeps walking — the rich butterscotch flavour with a kick of spice blends delectably with creamy vanilla and a hint of salt, and the ice-cold fizz keeps it all delightfully refreshing. He likes this world — everything he's tasted here is so delicious.

“Ack!”

Green eyes fly open in horror — he's bumped into someone. Someone in white. And he stares, wide-eyed with dismay, as his new favourite drink sloshes over, as if in slow motion, to stain expensive-looking fabric a steadily spreading brown.

“I— I'm so sorryyyyyy!!”

His outburst attracts more than a few gawkers, but that's the least of his concerns — what if he can't afford the laundry bill for that ornate garment? No, what if this stain is permanent, and he has to replace such a luxurious robe? Aaa, Marisbury is going to kill him…

“Tsk, you should watch where you're going. There are worse things you could bump into here.”

 _That voice!_ He looks up. “You!”

The other is young, too, the same age perhaps, but he looks just like that nosy clairvoyant Caster in his world, and—

“Me? Do you know me from somewhere?”

Well, it can't be. “N—no.” Even in a parallel universe, the real Merlin can't be eleven. “You just look a lot like someone I used to know.”

“Do I? No one's ever said that before. Oh, I get it!” The other grins, violet eyes twinkling as he leans in. “That was a pick-up line, and you bumped into me on purpose!”

“What? No!” _You're just as bad as the other one!_

“The other one?”

“Ah, no, no…” _Crap, did I say that aloud?!_ “Th—the other guy… that I… ran into that day…”

From the raised silvery eyebrow, it's obvious the other sees through his pathetic bluff. “I don't mind, you know. You're cute. I'd date you.”

“No! I just told you that's not what I meant!”

As if delighted by his protests, the other chuckles, musical. “No matter. The question is, what do we do about this,” a slender finger indicates the cup and stain, “right?”

“R—right. I'm sorry. I'll pay for the cleaning.”

That nets him another laugh. “My, my, are you even a wizard? Forget the cleaning. I'll forgive you... if you come shopping with me.”

“EH?!”

“What's wrong? Are you here with someone?”

“No, my guardian's picking me up later.” Romani regrets the truth as soon as he's blurted it out.

“Perfect.” A long arm winds around his shoulders to steer him. “We don't need anyone's permission then.”

“That's really not the point.” He takes another sip of the float as he follows along — fortunately, there's still half a cup left.

“What's your name anyway?”

“Me? Romani. Please call me Roman, though.”

“Roman, what a cute name for a cute person.” The other squeezes his shoulders affectionately. “I'm Merlin.”

“Seriously?” Everyone's staring, he realizes as they walk across the street — is it the name or… well, Merlin _is_ gorgeous with his flawless features and iridescent hair…

“Why would I lie?”

“If you're the real Merlin, cleaning up that stain should be child's play!” Romani protests.

“I never said I was, but I don't have to be — it's still easy.” Something slips into Merlin's hand, and he waves it at the stain, which promptly vanishes.

Romani gapes, spluttering, “I—if you wanted company, you could just say so!”

“I did! I asked you to accompany me shopping.”

“You _blackmailed_ me into accompanying you shopping.”

“Aww, I'm charmed my forgiveness means that much to you.”

“That's—!” _Ah!!_ It's true — Merlin hadn't actually said he'd have to pay for anything otherwise!

“Besides, we're shopping for all the same things, aren't we? Here we are; you need a cauldron, don't you?”

He looks up, but instead of the cauldron shop in front of them, the display on the shop next door catches his eye. It's a moving poster of Magi☆Mari, an internet idol that he never expected would be popular even among the wizarding community because it seems Marisbury is unusual in even having a computer. He'd discovered her while browsing the internet to learn more about this world when he first arrived, and she's so beautiful and talented. He loves her singing, her dancing, her videos, her music, her costumes, her replies to fan messages, her… everything, really. And now it seems she's collaborated with a famous chocolate artisan to bring "Chocolates, just the way I love them~" to the world. The first product in the line is a pentagon-shaped box of dark and milk chocolates filled with strawberry cream, and it comes with one of seven signed photo cards inside. He wants them all, of course, but…

Suddenly, Merlin slips an arm around his waist. He jumps, about to protest when—

“Stupefy.”

The man on his other side crumples to the ground with a modest chink.

“I don't suppose that's yours?”

He glances at Merlin, then follows that violet gaze with his own. The dark orange suede purse looks— He searches his pockets, gasps as his fingers find nothing but soft fleece, and hurriedly bends to pick the purse up. It's the right one — an ‘A’ stamped on the bottom and what looks like the right amount of money inside.

He whirls on his companion. “How did you—?”

The other winks. “I do need to live up to my namesake sometimes.”

 _Oh, right._ While different from King Gilgamesh or Romani's former self, Merlin _is_ the most powerful Clairvoyant of his time, possibly the only true Clairvoyant still alive. And Romani is positive now — this is the real Merlin of this world, even if, through whatever magic or mischief, he now looks no older than twelve. It's just like this trickster to make everyone think he's a sage-like bearded old man, so he can gallivant freely as his unaging beautiful s— _Argh!_ He mentally slaps himself. _I need to stop thinking of him as attractive!_

“If you stare any harder, you'll make me blush.”

Romani yelps. “Did I say something aloud or did you read my mind?”

The other grins. “I'm no Legilimens, but the way you're staring at me, flushed and speechless… one can only assume you're really falling for me.”

“I AM NOT!!!”

He clamps his hands over his mouth as the surrounding people stop to stare, realizing with horror how loud his outburst was. But Merlin only looks infuriatingly amused.

“A—anyway!” He indicates the would-be thief still lying unconscious on the ground — an utterly nondescript man, perfect for the job. “What do we do with him?”

“We?” Merlin raises a perfect eyebrow. “Absolutely nothing. Law enforcement will handle it. _We_ are going to buy ourselves cauldrons, yes?” He opens the wooden door and extends his hand in invitation. “Or would you rather drop by the sweets shop next door first?”

Romani's gaze darts back to the Magi☆Mari poster, and she waves at him, tempting him with luscious lips blissfully taking a bite of chocolate. But he clutches the purse he almost lost tightly. “M—maybe later,” if there's any left over after he's purchased all the necessities, he can come back. Resolutely, he tears his eyes away and steps into the cauldron shop, takes Merlin's hand before he can think better of it. “Thank you. For earlier. I guess you're um… not so bad.”

Whether due to or despite his grudging tone, the other cracks up. “You're hopeless. Fortunately, it's rather cute.”

“I am not,” he retorts as they get in line, careful to keep it hushed this time.

“Hopeless or cute?”

“Both. Neither.”

“Oh, I must beg to differ. You are very cute indeed.”

Romani firmly ignores the hushed giggling from the other customers and changes the subject. “So you're going to Hogwarts, too?”

Merlin gives him an ‘I see what you did there’ look, but lets it slide. “Yes. It seems fun. Isn't that why you're going?” he asks, as if he knows Romani Archaman didn't exist in this world only a few weeks ago and could very well choose to spend this second life on something other than school.

He's Merlin — he probably knows.

“I didn't realize it was optional,” Romani replies, stepping aside to dispose of his empty cup in the nearby bin.

“No, I suppose not, but there are other schools out there. You have options. The one in France is quite delightful, you know — the food, the wine, the music, the girls…”

They reach the counter, and the proprietress' bright blue eyes narrow at them, but the stern expression melts away when Merlin greets Madam Potage with a dazzling smile, asking for two pewter cauldrons.

Well, it's true that Merlin is terribly charming, s—

Romani gives himself another mental shake. He needs to focus on something else! Like Magi☆Mari! Yes! Eating chocolate! Not Merlin's damnable charisma!

He's relieved when the fuchsia-clad witch brings them their cauldrons, and his companion lets his hand go, so they can both pay, but then Merlin takes his hand again to lead him out to their next destination, and it's… nice, admittedly. Warm. Reassuring.

They step out once more into the busy street, and it doesn't seem so overwhelming now that Merlin clearly knows exactly where they need to go. The still unconscious thief is being levitated away by two official-looking witches trailed by a number of people agreeing amongst themselves that they fully intend to press charges, which means Romani wasn't the man's first victim or target — Merlin must have known that, too. The wind picks up as he looks on, and he shivers, wrapping his coat more snugly around himself. It's good that he's finished his drink — it'd only make him colder.

Merlin tugs on his hand, and he doesn't resist, following the other into the shop next door. The walls are lined with racks from floor to ceiling — robes on the bottom, bolts of fabric on the top.

“Hogwarts, I take it, dears?” The witch that approaches isn't much taller than them and about the size of them both put together — presumably the eponymous Madam Malkins. When he nods, “Come along then, let's get you fitted,” she leads the way further in with a kind smile, and they pass a brunette around their age on their way out. “Just got done with a few of you, so up you both go now.”

She nudges them onto the footstools, and a pair of black robes float over to hover expectantly behind them. Following Merlin's lead, he sets his cauldron down and slips his arms into the sleeves, then watches with fascination as the robe promptly fastens itself for the tape measure to extend itself around him of its own accord.

Madam Malkins bustles around them both, pinning the garments to the appropriate length and fit. “All right; off you go, dears. Just sit tight, and I'll have it ready in a jiffy. Two a piece, yes?”

“Yes, please,” they agree as one, and Merlin excitedly heads to the winter cloak section while they wait.

“What do you think?” He holds up two black cloaks to himself in turn — one looks like corduroy, the other looks like suede, and they have silver fastenings in the shape of fleur de lis.

“Are they not standardized?” It's supposed to be a part of the uniform, after all.

“Are you indifferent or simply lacking in imagination?” Merlin taps the identical list they're holding. “There's a whole lot of grey area in ‘black with silver fastenings,’ you know. For instance,” he flicks through the selection and pulls another one out, “I think this one is perfect for you.”

Merlin drapes it over his shoulders, and Romani obligingly secures the rhombus-shaped fastenings before turning to face the nearby mirror. It's luxuriously soft and smooth to the touch — the label says it's wool cashmere and a few sickles over the expected budget, but it's warm and comfortable with a detachable hood, and the high collar does look very nice.

“I like it,” he decides, running his hands over it. “I'll take it.”

“Wonderful,” comes the reply, but he's not sure if Merlin is referring to his decision or the cloak the other just picked up. “What do you think of this one?”

He holds it up to himself, and to be honest, Romani doesn't know why it matters — Merlin would look gorgeous in anything; it's really quite unfair. This one, he thinks, is enchanted fabric, though — it looks exactly like a clear night sky with glimmering stars, and in keeping with the theme, the silver fastenings join a star with a comet's tail.

“It suits you,” he answers, “Otherworldly.” He can't imagine Merlin going for something ordinary anyway.

The other smiles with palpable delight, and he mirrors it as Merlin steps closer. It's the hybrid's ability, he realizes, that's got him transfixed, why he can't stop thinking about how beautiful Merlin is — Dreamlike Charisma.

“And this,” Merlin is saying, “is a lovely colour on you, brings out the colour of your eyes.” A teal scarf is being wound around his neck, soft as fleece on his cheek.

“I—”

“All done, dears.” Madam Malkins announces, bringing them two bundles. “Have you decided on those cloaks, too?”

“Yes!” Merlin replies brightly. “We'll take these.”

Romani starts to remove the scarf, but a hand on his own stops him.

“You're cold, aren't you? Keep it.” The hand tucks a stray copper lock behind his ear.

“Oh.” He hadn't even expected Merlin to notice that brief shudder, but “You don't have to—”

“Alternatively, I could hug you for warmth for the rest of the day.”

“I— Y— We just met!” he protests, feeling his cheeks heat.

Madam Malkins chuckles as she rings them up, placing their packages into their cauldrons. “How adorable.”

It only intensifies his embarrassment, and he winds the scarf more snugly around his neck to hide his face as he pays for his purchases. “Thank you,” he murmurs, following Merlin to the door. “You shouldn't have, but—”

“A thank you kiss, perhaps?” Merlin suggests with a wink as they step outside.

“You're shameless,” he blurts as they turn left.

“My k—well, friend is what I should say now, I suppose. Anyway, she said much the same and that it would get me in trouble someday.”

“You mean Altria? She's certainly not wrong.”

“My, my…” Merlin murmurs, and Romani suddenly realizes what he'd let slip — _Oops._ It's too easy to relax around the Magus of Flowers — perhaps the charisma is to blame as well.

He swiftly ducks into the nearest shop. It's true that “Marisbury said I should get an owl,” after all. “The most useful of the allowed options, it seems.”

“That may well be true,” Merlin replies agreeably, following him into the dim interior that smells… well, like birds and all things going into, out of and around them. It's not uncomfortably strong or sharp —he can see that the feathery inhabitants greeting them with soft hoots and keen gazes are well cared for and meticulously cleaned— but pervasive, like the odour has had decades, if not more, to irreversibly suffuse every square centimetre of the place. “But I don't suppose you have something to tell me?”

No, it was too much to hope for that they could drop this. “Nothing that you don't already know, I expect.” Romani keeps his voice soft as he looks more closely at each owl — they come in so many colours, shapes and sizes. Some shuffle closer, some back away, some tilt their heads and inspect him in turn amidst a cacophony of dissonant hoots. “Will you be getting one, too?”

“No, my cat's quite enough of a handful.” An arm snakes around his waist to tug him to the left. “What do you think of this one? It's been craning its head to look at you ever since we came in. I think it likes you.” Merlin is indicating a large toffee-coloured horned owl with big reddish yellow eyes set in a slightly darker brown facial disc. There are grey and white flecks to better resemble tree bark for camouflage and a beige patch that streaks down the chest. “Look, it's even round and cute, just like you.”

Merlin pokes his cheek with a fond grin, and he catches the errant finger. “Stop that.” Leaning in for a closer look, he jumps back with a surprised laugh when the owl hops over and bows to nip his nose lightly.

“See? It thinks you're cute, too.”

He scowls at Merlin and offers the finger he's still holding to the owl who promptly nips it —“Ow!”— more viciously. Yes, he approves of this one. “I'll take it.”

With the assistance of the young shop assistant, they're leaving in short order with the birdcage in hand, a bag of owl treats in Romani's cauldron and several Galleons poorer for them. Merlin is still nursing his finger like the owl had done it grievous injury, and he holds it out sulkily as they exit.

“I demand you kiss it all better, Roman.”

“Oh, is that how it works?”

“It'll soothe my heart if nothing else.”

Romani rolls his eyes. “You're so dramatic. She only gave you a tiny little nip.”

“That you offered her! What are we calling her anyway?”

He pauses, lifting the birdcage up for another look in the afternoon light, and the owl ducks into the shaded part of the cage with a twitter of protest. It feels like he's seen this exact motion once, a long, long time ago.

“Taphath,” he decides, lowering it out of the sun. “Your name is Taphath.”

“Well, that confirms some things,” his companion muses as they approach the next shop, “but what brings you here?”

He smiles as they enter. “I made a wish. To experience a normal life. It was granted.”

“This is hardly the most normal it could be.” Merlin being Merlin, he doesn't ask by whom or what, only checks their shopping list.

Laughing as they move around gathering the necessary items, Romani agrees. “But as you say, it seems fun. Wizarding school, I never would have imagined.”

“I think you'll enjoy it.”

“It's novel, that's for sure.”

Picking up the scales, they join the line for the cashier, and Merlin leans in. “Don't think I've forgotten about that kiss, though.”

“No, but I'm going to keep ignoring your scummy ideas. Wait…” Something occurs to him. “If you knew all along, then you're the one that bumped into me on purpose?”

“Conversely, may I remind you, you were the one who recognized me on sight and tried to pick me up.”

“I most certainly did not.”

“Pretending to mistake someone for an acquaintance is the most basic pick-up line there is, Archaman,” Merlin counters coolly. “There's no reason to be bashful about it.”

“Look, just because you're beautiful doesn't mean—”

He stops — the sheer delight on the cambion's face is all he needs to cement this day as a lesson in the consequences of not thinking before he speaks. He really should put some thought into his words now that the Wisdom of God isn't doing all the talking anymore.

“What was that, Roman?”

“You heard me,” he mutters, sullen. “Don't be insufferable.”

“Say it again~”

“No.”

“Pretty please~?” Merlin shifts, so they're eye to eye, all but sparkling with excitement, and okay, it's really cute, but—

“No! Your ego doesn't need encouraging!” He steps around Merlin to stay in line and pretends not to notice the whispers and giggles of the other patrons. Words couldn't possibly describe the depth of his regret for saying it the first time.

“Spoilsport.”

But though the other lets it go at that, Merlin is obviously terribly pleased, and Romani _knows_ he'll never live this down. It seems, no matter what world they're in, the name Merlin is synonymous with trouble. To his relief, they pay for the items and move on in peace, his companion seeming content to take his arm as they walk across the road to the bookstore for their textbooks.

Given that it's the height of the Back To School shopping season, Flourish and Blotts has complete sets for each year already in neatly tied bundles with optional books on the nearby shelves to help speed things along. They take a First Year bundle each, but Merlin steers him away from the counter to browse the other sections, saying, “You can't miss this, Roman. Magical books are positively fabulous!”

And it's true — he's never seen books like these before. The pictures move, the music books sing, some continuously change their shape, some move about of their own accord. There's even one about Divination that claims its pages aren't actually blank but will reveal themselves to true Clairvoyants, which is terribly silly seeing as true Clairvoyants wouldn't need such a book anyway. Merlin points out a vicious-looking book in a cage, saying he'd like to get one some other day for his Cath Palug to play with, then grabs another book off a shelf and leads him to a corner with a bit of space.

“Watch,” he says, setting the book down. Then, standing next to it, he taps out a rhythm with his feet.

To Romani's surprise, the book promptly leaps up and starts dancing! As he looks on in amazement, Merlin catches him by the arms to make him dance along, and he barely puts his cauldron down in time before the other twirls him around the dancing book. The book leaps up, doing a midair flip into his arms, and he laughs as he catches it, stumbling back into Merlin. Warm arms wind around his waist to steady him, and it's nice, he thinks, when Merlin isn't actively infuriating.

Of course that's when a stern-looking shop assistant clears his throat. “I expect you're buying that?”

Romani yelps, almost dropping the book in question, but Merlin only laughs, picking up his own cauldron. “Well, now that I have someone to practice with, I expect I shall!”

They join the queue for the cashier that extends up to the bestseller counter, but the books there are surprisingly normal. The pictures on the covers move, of course, but they otherwise appear to be perfectly ordinary adventure novels.

“They should rearrange these,” Merlin remarks, waving his hand at the separator between the fiction and non-fiction categories. “Those definitely belong in the fiction section.”

Romani takes a closer look, only now noticing that what he'd thought were adventure novels are in the non-fiction category. “Are they autobiographies?”

“ _Fictional_ autobiographies, yes. The events have been embellished to the point that the only non-fiction elements are that someone went on such a trip and someone wrote a story loosely based on it.”

He shudders — he's probably not imagining the fierce glares suddenly directed at them. They're bestsellers, after all — they've probably garnered quite the fanbase.

“Entertaining though,” Merlin continues, either uncaring or oblivious. “I suppose if truly factual accounts were what people wanted to read, history books would be bestsellers.”

That, however, seems to mollify the onlookers slightly, as the prickling sensation dwindles, and they manage to pay for their books and leave without incident. Outside the shop, Romani checks his list, and there's only one item left to get.

“Saving the best for last,” Merlin declares, taking his arm to lead the way again, and he adjusts his hold on the cauldron — with the addition of the books, it's extremely heavy, and Taphath makes a sound of complaint at being jostled in the cramped space. “Oh.” The other halts abruptly. “I forgot. Why suffer?”

Now that he gets a better look as Merlin bends to charm his cauldron, he realizes that the object that slipped into the wizard's hand earlier is the wand the other is currently waving. Suddenly, the cauldron is weightless in his hand and he has to adjust his grip on it.

“Wow, you _can_ be useful.”

“Ouch.” The other pouts. “You owe me another kiss.”

“Well, you can just keep counting,” Romani declares firmly, continuing along the way they were headed until Merlin grabs his elbow to turn him another way.

“I should let you wander off and get lost for all the gratitude I'm getting,” the vagrant mutters, tugging him along, and… in spite of all their bickering, it's true he'd have had a much harder time today without Merlin. Maybe he should be nicer…? It's just one brief little peck, right?

They arrive at a narrow shop with a single wand displayed on a faded purple cushion — it all looks ancient, from the peeling gold letters over the door to the weathered paint and dusty window, and he can't help but wonder how many centuries this shop has stood unchanged, at what point after 382 BC did it become the shop he's looking at today.

Merlin enters without hesitation, and he hears a faint tinkling from further inside as he joins the other and the door swings shut behind them. Surprisingly, there's no one else, and it's as if the dust and silence here have remained undisturbed for aeons, blanketing the secrets piled up to the ceiling in a million little boxes on either side. Merlin runs his fingers over the arm of a lone spindly chair as they pass, and Romani wonders if the cambion has been here before, if the wand the wizard uses is from here, imagines another time when his radiant companion had been the only thing to pierce the shroud that seems to mute all light in this shop.

“Good afternoon.”

He jumps, embarrassingly enough, behind Merlin. “Uh, g—good afternoon.”

The old man seems to have materialized out of nowhere, hair white with age and somewhat unkempt, with silvery eyes that seem to shine. But where Merlin's eyes glow with a mesmerising light, these eyes are piercing, a little creepy in the way they intently scrutinise them both.

The old man's face contorts in bafflement. “You must be new here. I haven't seen anyone like you before.”

“Oh, yes, I was uh… recently adopted,” for the lack of a better explanation.

Merlin goes for, “I've been living overseas, Mr. Ollivander,” which is true in a manner of speaking, he supposes.

“Well, no matter, Mister…?”

“Archaman.”

“Emrys.”

The proprietor pulls a tape measure out of his pocket, the markings a strangely bright silver in the gloom. “Which are your wand arms?”

Romani holds out his right arm, and the tape measure moves to measure him from shoulder to finger, wrist to elbow, then all kinds of other places unrelated to his arm as the old man explains, “Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, either unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers or the heartstrings of dragons. And just as no two unicorns, dragons or phoenixes are quite the same, no two wands are ever the same. The wand chooses the wizard, you know, so of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard’s wand.”

The tape measure reaches for Merlin then, and he deftly sidesteps it. “No, no, not me; I have one.”

He holds it up as proof, and Mr. Ollivander, who'd been reaching for one of the many boxes nearby, immediately darts over for a closer look as the tape measure slips back into his robe pocket. Pale eyes light up with fascination as he inspects the almost golden light brown piece ornately carved with intertwining vines around the shaft ending in a cluster of flowers as the pommel.

“Simply remarkable,” he breathes. “Where did you get this?”

Merlin shrugs. “It was gifted a long time ago… to my family.”

The wandmaker smiles faintly. “A particularly fine specimen of acacia. I expect no one else was ever able to use it.”

“Indeed.” The hybrid mirrors the smile, and Romani wonders if it's like this for everyone, if that charisma makes it impossible for anyone to look away.

“And such exquisite craftsmanship…” Maybe it extends to his wand, too, since Mr. Ollivander seems to be having trouble tearing his eyes away from it. “…the likes of which I've never seen fr—” He cuts himself off, stepping back. “Oh, my apologies for getting distracted, Mr. Archaman. Right then.” He fetches a few boxes from their shelves and opens one to press a long dark brown wand of relatively simple design into Romani's hand. “Here, walnut and dragon heartstring, ten and a half inches, supple. Try waving it.”

He does, but nothing happens, and it is quickly snatched out of his hand to be replaced by an almost white one — “Twelve inches, sycamore and phoenix feather, brittle. Go on.”

But he has scarcely closed his fingers around the handle when it's taken away, and he's offered a deep reddish brown one instead — “No, try this one — redwood and unicorn hair, slightly yielding, nine inches. No? Hm. Here—”

“Um, what exactly are we looking for?” Romani asks as the stack of wands he's tried piles up. “How will we—”

“You'll know,” Merlin and Mr. Ollivander assure him, almost in unison, as beech and phoenix after fir and dragon join the pile, then—

He gasps — a spark of warmth shoots up his arm, and it's as if a sudden gust of wind lifts him though his feet never leave the floor. Multicoloured sparks burst from the tip of the long amber-hued wand in a small fireworks display over their heads, and he turns to Merlin, breathless, elated. The violet eyes watching him are fond, and he wants—

“Marvellous… cypress and unicorn hair, fourteen inches and unbending.” The proprietor takes it to put it back in its box, running his fingers along the ten rings on the handle and the loop forming the pommel one last time before closing the box and wrapping it neatly in brown paper. “I trust that you will stay true to your pure and noble heart, Mr. Archaman.”

Feeling a little dazed, Romani nods, taking the box.

“Well, life's no fun if you stay _too_ pure,” Merlin interjects with a wink, and the spell is broken.

“You have gone all the way to the other extreme, you incorrigible vagrant!” is out like a reflex, and Mr. Ollivander raises an eyebrow. “Uh… s—sorry, how much is it?”

“Seven Galleons.”

Taking Marisbury's purse, he woefully counts out the last seven gold pieces — there's probably not enough left for Magi☆Mari chocolates. Maybe if he hadn't had that waffle…

“Thank you, Mr. Ollivander. Shall we?”

Merlin leads him to the door with an arm around his waist, and he remembers suddenly that he wouldn't even have gotten his necessities if Merlin hadn't stopped that pickpocket earlier. It's just one tiny moment, right?

“Um…” Steeling himself, he squeezes his eyes shut and touches his lips to the other's cheek as swiftly as he can. “Thank you. For today.”

Maybe he shouldn't have, though — he opens his eyes to find his companion's delight bordering on manic glee as they step out the door.

“Waaah, that was the cutest! Do it again!”

“No!” He takes quick strides towards the main street, cheeks ablaze.

“That was one of three!” Merlin jogs after him. “You owe me two more!”

“You just keep telling yourself th—ahh!” He'd walked right into— “Marisbury!”

The older Mage steadies him. “Thought I'd find you here. Who's that?”

“Oh, uh, new friend,” he mumbles, glancing back.

Merlin stops just a couple of steps away and inclines his head. “Good afternoon.”

Marisbury nods. “Good afternoon.” Turning back to Romani, “Do you have everything?” he asks, peering into the cauldron.

“Oh, yes. Yes, I do.”

“Excellent. Then we must be going. Goodbye then,” he tells Merlin, leading Romani away with a hand on the shoulder.

“See you at Hogwarts!”

Romani turns to find Merlin waving cheerfully and can't help but wave back with a smile. “See you!”

“Your new friend, how did you meet him?” Marisbury asks, ushering him briskly through the crowd back towards the Leaky Cauldron.

“Oh, um…” Romani ducks his head, sheepish. “I spilled my drink on him.”

“Did you?” His foster father murmurs as they pass through the tavern, but it's clearly just for the sake of responding, so he, too, only hums the affirmative. It's not till they're climbing into Marisbury's Mercedes that the other speaks again. “You should be more careful whom you mix with. That one is clearly not fully human.” So the earlier frostiness wasn't just his imagination.

“I know.” His fingers curl in soft teal fabric as the car starts up. “He's nice, though. He showed me around, saved me from a pickpocket and even bought me this scarf at Madam Malkin's because he saw I was cold.”

Romani never thought he'd see the day he'd be defending Merlin's character, but he doesn't like Marisbury's tone — as if Merlin is some monster or otherwise lesser for being a hybrid. Sure, the Vagrant of Paradise is renowned as an incorrigible womanizing troublemaker, but he's not a bad person. Scummy and shameless, yes, but not evil.

“That's good then. Still, don't get careless. They are, by nature, quite different from us, after all, these half-breeds.”

“His name is Merlin,” Romani replies tersely, keeping his eyes trained on the landscape outside the window as Marisbury drives home.

Sadly, he doesn't think Marisbury is the exception —indeed, even in his world, Marisbury was notably mundane for a Magus; here without the Holy Grail Wars, he's painfully ordinary. Maybe that's why everyone was staring, why Merlin so quickly latched on to him — if everyone thinks like Marisbury, then Merlin must be very lonely. He bites his lip — is that why Merlin all but blackmailed him for company? Because no one would have accompanied him willingly even though he's so beautiful and charming? Heh, it's ironic that the legendary Prince of Enchanters everyone idolizes and names awards after should be treated like an outcast now.

“Oh? Does he have an English Oak wand, too?” Marisbury obviously thinks Merlin is at best using the name to gain attention or at worst a total charlatan, but to be fair, in this case, anyone would.

“Is he supposed to?”

“That's the popular rumour, at least. Of course, since his grave has never been found, there's no way to prove it either way.”

“Well, you can't find what doesn't exist. Some legends say he went to Avalon and never returned. So maybe there is no grave to find.” Perhaps he'll ask about that next time. “But no, Mr. Ollivander said it was crafted from a very special acacia and that he'd never seen such magnificent work before.”

“Indeed? Coming from him, that's very high praise.”

Fortunately, Marisbury at least knows how to take a hint, and they drop the subject of Merlin permanently.

☆☆☆☆☆☆

Along comes September first, and Romani spends the entire car ride to King's Cross station either yawning or dozing off after packing through the night. He shouldn't have left it to the last minute, but that's a lesson to remember for next year.

“Are you sure you have everything?” Olga-Marie asks for the umpteenth time. “All your books? Taphath's treats?”

“Yes, yes, I'm sure.”

Honestly, he doesn't know what Marisbury or his wife taught their daughter — she's so young but so much sterner and more imperious than him already. Consequently, she's continuously getting on Romani's case for being too easygoing for his age. It's unfortunate the rules won't let her go to school early — she's a prodigy, and he bets she'll make Prefect in record time.

“And you remember how to return your things to their normal size?” They had to shrink some items for ease of transport, like his cauldron.

“Yes! Look, I know I seem kinda like a wimp sometimes, but I'm not completely hopeless!”

“Stop teasing Romani, Olga-Marie,” Marisbury chides gently as he pulls into a parking space.

“Oh, can you help but worry, Father?” she complains as they disembark. “The whole atmosphere seems to slack off around him.”

Her father laughs as they load Romani's two suitcases onto a nearby trolley and equitably pronounces, “The two of you could stand to take a leaf out of each other's books,” and no, no, Romani doesn't think he could learn to be more like Olga-Marie, nor does he want to.

They accompany him to platforms nine and ten, Marisbury wheeling the trolley along while Olga-Marie strokes Taphath's soft feathers one last time — she's really taken to the owl since Romani brought it home.

“Do you remember what platform it is?” she asks without so much as glancing back.

“Nine and three-quarters,” he sighs wearily — it's nice that she cares enough to nag, he supposes.

“And here we are,” Marisbury announces, coming to a stop near the ticket barrier between platforms nine and ten.

 _This is it._ Romani takes a deep breath and grips the trolley's handlebar when Marisbury steps aside. One year of magical boarding school in the Scottish Highlands coming right up. He just has to walk straight at the barrier.

“Don't stop and don't be scared you'll crash into it,” Olga-Marie reminds him.

“Some people find it helpful to run into it,” Marisbury adds tentatively, and Romani wants to scream _That's advice from a person of faith! If you run at a barrier, you'll only crash that much harder!_

Bracing himself, he makes the logical choice and walks calmly into the barrier, closing his eyes. Nothing blocks his way, and when he opens his eyes, there's a scarlet steam engine waiting next to a crowded platform that wasn't there before. The sign overhead says Hogwarts Express, eleven o'clock, meaning he has fifteen minutes to make his way onto the train and find a seat.

“Take good care of Taphath, you hear me?” Olga-Marie calls out, and he turns to find her standing beside her father beneath a wrought-iron archway with the words Platform Nine and Three-Quarters on it. “A—and yourself,” she adds awkwardly, cheeks dusted red. “E—even if you're adopted, you're still a proud member of the Animusphere family; don't forget that!”

“Now, now, dear.” Marisbury pats his daughter on the head, then comes over to ruffle Romani's hair. “Have a good year.”

“I will. Thank you.”

Pushing his trolley along, he scans the carriages as he passes to find one that isn't already packed with other students and finally reaches one that seems to have some empty compartments left. At the steps of the carriage door, he positions his trolley for easier transfer of his suitcases and—

“Ro~ Ma~ Ni~” Familiar arms snake around his waist, and a fluffy head of iridescent hair pokes over his shoulder. “Missed me?”

Before he can dash Merlin's hopes, a warm ball of fur leaps into his arms, and he yelps, fumbles not to drop it.

“Warn a person, you evil critter!” Merlin flicks the creature's ear as it settles into Romani's arms, and it swipes viciously at the wizard's hand — a narrow miss.

But now that he has a better look at this… rabbit-cat-squirrel chimera, “It looks just like you! OW!”

It kicked him and lands deftly on his suitcase as he drops it in reflex. “Fou,” it says to Taphath, who hoots back reproachfully with a rustle of feathers. “Foufoufou.”

“That's Cath Palug, but as you can see, you can call him Fou.”

“Uh, hi, Fou. I'm Roman, and that's Taphath.” He indicates the owl, and she hoots crossly at Fou again.

“Need any help?” Merlin lets go to take his wand out and flick it at the suitcases, sending them up the stairs along with Fou and Taphath's cage. Then he lifts his own suitcase, ostensibly charmed into weightlessness, and moves the trolleys out of the way before boarding the train. “Come on, Roman.”

Romani follows along as Merlin moves all their suitcases into an empty compartment. He's wearing a long beige double-breasted coat over a dark teal shirt and dark grey slacks this time, with a chocolate brown scarf around his neck, and looking so unfairly handsome — none of those even match!

It's with this almost sullen thought that he tugs iridescent curls off the floor while Merlin tucks their suitcases into unobtrusive nooks. “Why don't you tie it up?” he complains. “You're sweeping the floor; at worst, you'll trip someone.”

The other turns to him with twinkling eyes. “You could tie it up for me.”

“Tie it up yourself,” he retorts, setting Taphath's cage down on the seat just out of the light from the window. “You could easily do it with magic.”

“Oh, but it wouldn't be the same!”

Fou climbs up onto the seat beside Taphath and, at another stern hoot, nuzzles his hand as if in apology for the earlier kick. The Cath Palug has soft, fluffy fur, and lets him pat it for a bit before curling up by the owl cage. He takes his seat across from the two pets, and Merlin cheerfully sits down beside him.

“So… I guess that makes this our second date.”

Romani whirls. “We didn't even have a first date!”

“No? We spent the whole afternoon together, you're wearing the first date gift I bought y—”

The compartment door opens, interrupting. “Hello,” says an auburn-haired boy in a green coat trimmed with black fur, smiling pleasantly. “Mind if I joined you?”

“Of—”

“I do indeed!” Merlin interjects, throwing his arms around Romani. “This one is mine, Lev, all mine. Go third-wheel somewhere else.”

“O—oh. Well then, my apologies. I had no idea I was interrupting something.”

As the compartment door clicks shut, Romani splutters, “Wh—why did you have to go and give him the wrong idea?! Now everyone thinks—”

“You mean the _right_ idea. I do want you all to myself, Roman. Look,” Merlin fishes something out of his coat pocket, “I even got you a second date gift.”

“We're n—” The words die on his lips as he catches sight of the blue and gold pentagon-shaped box on the table with a face he'd recognize anywhere. “M— Is that—? M—Magi☆Mari Love Chocolates?!”

“I saw you staring longingly at it that day, so I took the liberty of getting you a box. But if you don't want it—”

Romani stops Merlin's hand from taking the box, covering it with his own as the train starts moving. “I do!” _Oh God, that sounds so bad, even if he's just trying to buy my company because he's lonely…_ “I— That is—”

“So… second date?”

“I—” Well, it's not like he's _opposed_ to dating Merlin per se, but… “D—do you really mean it?”

“Completely,” the other replies, brilliant smile unwavering. “Why wouldn't I? You're cute _and_ delicious.”

“Can you not say creepy stuff like that?!”

“How is it creepy? You know what I am and exactly how I mean it, don't you?”

Well, yes, he assumed it'd be the same as in his world, too, but “It still sounds terrible. Are the rumours true, anyway?”

He pulls on the perforated tab to remove the plastic seal and opens the box of chocolates, caresses the moving picture of his idol blowing a kiss on the shiny card lovingly.

“Which?”

“The English Oak wand? Slytherin house?”

“Oh.” Merlin chuckles, settling back into the seat. “Mm, in a manner of speaking. Back in the day, we didn't use wands so much as staves. The English Oak is a sturdy wood well suited for a blunt weapon.”

“A blunt weapon?” he echoes with a raised eyebrow, unwrapping a pentagon-shaped piece to eat. It has a rose pattern on the top, and it's delectable — tart strawberry bits in smooth cream enrobed in rich dark chocolate, flavourful and not too sweet.

“I tend to stumble on incantations when I'm in a hurry, so a lot of the time, I just bludgeoned my enemies.” Giggling at Romani's horror, the other adds, “It's easy, you know. People always expect, because you're a wizard, that you're going to cast a spell on them, so they never see a physical attack coming. Muggles, especially, think they'll be fine as long as they don't give you an opening to cast any spells. They're always so shocked when I best them with a sword or staff. Of course, yes, I used it for magic, too, and certainly, I was mighty good at it, but mostly, I just swung it around!”

“Sorry,” Romani mumbles as he stifles a yawn and rubs his eyes, the lack of sleep catching up. “I didn't sleep last night, too busy packing. Do you want one?” He offers Merlin the chocolates.

“Well, your delight is tastier than any chocolate, but I can certainly try one.” He unwraps a piece, pops it in his mouth and nods approvingly. “Hm, quite as I hoped. Do you like the chocolate?”

“Mm, it's very good.”

He yawns again, and Merlin nudges him, so his head rests on the cambion's shoulder. _Oh._ It's soft, well padded by the layers of luxurious clothes, and the subtle scent of floral musk is lovely.

“Sleep then. It's a long ride. Oh, and since you've accepted the gift, that means we're dating now, you know.”

Romani nods, closing his eyes, warm and comfortable. “Mm, as long as you mean it.”

☆☆☆☆☆☆

Romani tucks the bed warmer under the patchwork quilt and draws the drapes around the four-poster bed before getting to work unpacking his things into the trunk and drawers. It's nice down here in the Hufflepuff Basement, warm and cosy. The Sorting Hat had briefly considered Ravenclaw, but then decided on Hufflepuff, and that's probably good — if the towers are anything like the Owlery he took Taphath to earlier, then they're probably chilly, and he doesn't think he'd fit in with geniuses and overachievers anyway.

That's where Merlin was sent, though.

After sticking to him like glue throughout the train ride and then the boat ride across the lake, they were finally separated for the Sorting and the Feast. And what a delightful feast it was! The amazing food more than made up for the truthfully rather awful school song the kindly-looking headmaster made them sing, and he probably had quite a bit more of the wonderful desserts than he should have.

His new roommates bid him goodnight and he responds in kind — it's been a long day, and he should probably turn in soon as well. Putting the last of his belongings away, he shuts the suitcase and stows it under the bed before getting changed. As he removes the school robes and the coat beneath it, the weight in his coat pocket reminds him of something precious. Taking the collectible chocolate box out, he smiles fondly as he tucks it into his nightstand along with his other personal effects. He'll have to find a way to collect the other cards, too.

Changing into his pyjamas, he parts the drapes to—

“Hi dear~”

“Merlin?!” he hisses, all but jumping into the bed and yanking the drapes closed. “What are you doing here?!”

“Oh, it's so cold up in the tower,” Merlin whines, just as he'd thought, tugging him down to snuggle closer. “And my real dinner is right here, where it's also nice and warm.”

Romani sighs, settling in. Lonely, he reminds himself; Merlin is just lonely. “How did you get here anyway? I thought you can't Apparate on the castle grounds. And aren't you supposed to be in Slytherin?”

“Who said I Apparated? And seven years in a dungeon, however nice it may be, is quite enough, I think. Unless,” Merlin turns, a predatory glint in violet eyes, “you're into the dungeon thing. Then I'd make an exception. It could be arranged.”

He smacks the other. “Get that lecherous leer off your face. That's totally inappropriate for a second date.”

“But we're already sharing a bed now!”

He crosses his arms. “Who says I'm letting you stay?”

Merlin clutches his arm in mock horror. “You'd let me freeze?”

“You'd get us both in trouble,” he ripostes pointedly.

“Oh, they'll never catch us,” the Prince of Enchanters promises with a conspiratorial grin. “Just relax and go to sleep. I'll be gone in the morning.”

“That just makes you sound scummier.”

“Well, it's too bad we didn't get Sorted into the same house.”

Romani rolls his eyes as the lights go out. “You're the furthest thing from a Hufflepuff!”

“But you could be a Ravenclaw.” The other raises an eyebrow, challenges him to deny it.

“And then we'd both be cold.” He doesn't.

“No, no, the quilts are thicker, we can snuggle closer, _and_ we'd have Fou,” Merlin replies, nuzzling his cheek. “He's pretty warm, too. But not as tasty as you.”

“St—stop saying things like that.” He can feel his cheeks heating up. “You're completely shameless.”

“I do mean it, though!” Merlin protests earnestly, and ah, it's not like he really even minds… he's done for, totally done for.

“Just go to sleep, Merlin.” He closes his eyes. “Good night.”

Giggling happily, Merlin shifts his arms for a more comfortable hug. “Good night, Roman. I'll make sure you have sweet dreams.”

That he doesn't doubt, and as he drifts off in yet another part of this magical world, he's sure tomorrow will bring even more exciting adventures. It's not quite normal, but fun, he thinks, is pretty good, too.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope it was a fun read, at least!  
> All feedback always appreciated! ♡


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